From Different Eyes
by AnnabethLuna
Summary: Briefly mentioned moments in the Harry Potter books, from different points of view! My take on how said characters were thinking and feeling at given points in the stories. Viewpoints include Ron, Hermione, Neville, Cho, and more!
1. Ron and Lockhart

"Obliviate!"

Ron dropped to the ground as the explosion began, jets of light shooting out from every direction of the ruined wand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the figure of Harry disappearing around the corner, but all his sight was quickly obscured as the ceiling began to crack. Triggered by the explosion, tons of rock crumbled down, falling between Harry and Ron.

Light was still emitting from the remains of the wand. Ron covered his head with his hands, praying.

I can't lose my memory, not now. After what happened to Ginny, it would destroy my parents. Please . . .

When the light died, he realized he could still think. He still knew who he was, where he was, why he was there . . . He let out a groan.

"Ginny," he whispered.

Looking ahead, he saw rock. A whole barrier, keeping him from his little sister. And not just her - his heart sank -

"Ron!" Harry's voice. "Are you okay? Ron!"

Before he could answer, a new voice broke in. Gilderoy Lockhart's. Ron turned to the fraud - the fool - the person who had almost destroyed his life - about to scream and curse him out, but he was stopped by the pleasantly bewildered look on Lockhart's face.

"Hello," he said. "Who are you?"

The charm had obviously backfired. "I'm here!" he called. "I'm okay - this git's not, though - he got blasted by the wand - "

His anger not quite abated, he strode over to Lockhart and kicked him as hard as he could in the shin. Lockhart replied with an "ow" but Ron paid no attention. "What now?" he said, glaring at the rock. "We can't get through - it'll take ages - "

"Wait there," said Harry. What was Ron hearing? "Wait with Lockhart. I'll go on." No! He couldn't do that! "If I'm not back in an hour . . ."

His voice died. Ron paused. He couldn't exactly do anything to dissuade Harry at this point, but he promised himself he wouldn't leave in an hour. He'd wait as long as it took.

"I'll try and shift some of this rock then," he said, his whole body shaking. He clutched at the stones to keep himself up. He couldn't lose Ginny and Harry - no. He wouldn't even entertain that possibility. "So you can - can get back through." His voice broke as he gazed at the very solid rocks before him for a moment. "And, Harry . . ." His voice trailed off this time. How did he say it? How could he tell Harry - what do you say to a friend when you might never see them again? No, he told himself sternly, he'll come back. He has to.

"See you in a bit," came Harry's voice. He didn't even sound scared. How could he be so brave?

"Good luck," Ron whispered, but there was no answer. Harry was gone.

...

Ron Weasley had never been so scared in his life.

His best friend in the world was off fighting a basilisk to save his, Ron's, baby sister. As if it wasn't had enough that his other best friend was lying in a hospital bed, Petrified. And - something occurred to him - he had no idea how to get out of this sewer hole. He scowled at the rock, wondering if he'd ever see any of them again. He was completely alone.

Well, not completely.

"Who am I?" asked a voice behind him.

Overcome with anger, Ron whirled and grabbed the moron by the collar.

"You," he spit, "are nothing. Do you hear me? And now, you are going to sit down, shut up, and not move a muscle. Do you understand me?"

Still looking puzzled, Lockhart walked a little way away, sat down on the ground, and started humming a strange, obnoxious little tune. Ron sighed and turned his attention to the huge pile of rock before him.

...

A long time passed, and Ron had finally made a gap through which a relatively thin person could squeeze if they really wanted to. Feeling proud of his handiwork, he was catching his breath when he heard running footsteps. And his name.

"Ron!" yelled Harry's voice, and Ron redoubled his efforts on the rock. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"

"Yes!" Ron couldn't help shouting as his sister came into view. He reached out and pulled her through the gap. "Ginny! You're alive! I don't believe it!" His joy evaporated a bit, though, when he saw that she was crying, shaking with suppressed sobs, tears streaming down her face.

Then he had no room for anything but surprise as, instead of Harry, a giant, glowing red bird flew through the hole. "What happened?" he asked. "Where did that bird come from?"

"He's Dumbledore's," replied Harry, pushing through as well. Ron's best friend was covered in blood and holding a bloodstained, ruby-encrusted sword.

What on earth had happened? "How come you've got a sword?" asked Ron, completely in shock.

"I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry evasively.

"But - "

"Later," said Harry firmly. Ron felt a slight twinge of annoyance, but it was quickly smothered. He had his sister back! And for that, he didn't care about anything else.


	2. Cho's Invitation

"Cho!"

Cho Chang grimaced. She would've thought that even fools would know that you _did not _talk in Professor Moody's class – that magical eye of his could see anyone, anything, anywhere. But apparently, some fools still hadn't gotten the message.

"What?" she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, barely turning her head.

Liza, another girl in their year, was leaning forward. "Do you have a date to the ball yet?" she whispered loudly.

Though preoccupied with taking notes about the Cruciatus Curse, Cho couldn't keep back a small smile as she nodded.

"Oooh," squealed Liza, her eyes alight with the fiery curiosity that always precedes gossip. "Who?"

Cho's smile grew a bit, but she kept her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes on Professor Moody. Her best friends, however, immediately began to giggle.

"I'll tell you who," grinned Traci, sitting on her right.

"Our Cho will be going," broke in Marietta, smirking on Cho's left.

"With the man of all men," finished Traci.

"Tall," Marietta whispered.

"Dark," added Traci dreamily.

"Handsome." Marietta laid a hand to her heart and breathed deeply.

"_Cedric Diggory,_" sighed the girls together, and then burst into giggles again.

"You are not!" gasped Liza, leaning even farther forward, as though she couldn't get close enough to Cho. "Why, you lucky little" –

"Excuse me."

None of them had noticed the shadow that fell over them. They all looked up guiltily into the face of Professor Moody.

"Doubtless what you were saying is very important and has great relevance to the Unforgivable Curses," growled the professor, "but regardless, please wait to discuss it until you have left my classroom." His magical eye was fixed mainly on Cho, which she found distinctly unfair, since she had hardly made a sound. But they all murmured apologies, and Professor Moody continued to teach.

But Cho didn't pay much attention. She returned to the state of deep confusion in which she'd been ever since Cedric asked her to the ball.

Cedric was a catch, she knew it. Everyone knew it. Practically every girl in the school was jealous of her, and she'd been honored and delighted when Cedric asked her to the ball.

But as they got up from their desks and walked toward the door, she wondered what was wrong with her. Why, in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind, she felt a teeny tiny bit disappointed that Cedric had asked her instead of –

"Cho?"

And there he was. Not as tall as Cedric. Scrawnier, certainly. And most definitely not as handsome. And yet . . . something about him – the messy black hair, the bright green eyes, or maybe just his demeanor or personality – had caught her, and wasn't letting go too easily.

Harry Potter.

They'd met last year, when they played Quidditch against each other. That might be it, on second thought – he was really good. Better than her, she admitted it, although she'd never tell him. And ever since, he'd just been . . . popping up in her mind.

"Could I have a word with you?" he asked. Cho wanted to kick all her friends as they started giggling even harder than before. No matter what everyone else said, she didn't hate Harry for being chosen as a champion – there was no way he'd done it him-self. And, really, could that Skeeter woman's lies be any more obvious?

"Okay," she replied, glaring over her shoulder at her friends as she followed him out of earshot. Her heart sank – she had a feeling she knew why he'd asked for a private word, and she couldn't believe her misfortune.

He looked nervous. He kept shifting from side to side, and his eyes were fixed determinedly at the floor. Suddenly, he said something – but it was mumbled so quickly Cho had no idea what he'd said. Well, she could guess – but she didn't like to be so full of herself she just assumed what he would be saying.

"Sorry?" she said. She hated having to do this.

"Do you – do you want to go to the ball with me?" As soon as he had said it, he blushed so furiously it made Cho embarrassed, and he was still examining the floor as though it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. At this point, Cho was ready to join him.

"Oh," she said, not knowing what else to say, feeling heat flame up in her face, "oh, Harry, I'm really sorry, I've already said I'll go with someone else." The tiny disappointed corner of her mind had grown a little bigger now.

"Oh, okay, no problem," he said, in the tone of someone at a loss for words. He looked slightly crestfallen.

"I'm really sorry," she said again, now wishing she could say yes.

"That's okay," he said, not looking like it was okay at all.

The silence grew more and more awkward, both of them staring at the ground, faces flaming. "Well" – Cho said, but broke off, not sure what exactly she wanted to say.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"Well, bye," she said. Was this or was this not the most awkward conversation she'd ever had? She turned, and walked away, as quickly as possible without being rude. But she heard a call behind her and turned to see Harry still watching her.

"Who're you going with?"

"Oh" – she said, "Cedric." For some reason she wished she wasn't. "Cedric Diggory," she repeated. Yes, she was going to the Yule Ball with Cedric Diggory, so there was no longer any point – for now, anyway – in thinking about Harry Potter.

"Oh, right," he said. And this time he was the one who turned and walked away. She watched his retreating back for a moment, feeling more confused than she ever had in her life.

Finally, she turned and walked back to her friends. "And what did the 'famous' Harry Potter want?" giggled Marietta. She sketched quotation marks with her fingers around the word "famous."

"Oh, shut up," grumbled Cho, turning and walking fast to dinner, not looking to see if they were behind her.


	3. Xenophilius Lovegood

I am an awful person.

I know it. Nobody else knows, not yet, but they all will soon. The three . . . guests . . . inside my house will know it in about an hour, and the rest of the world will know it as soon as the next edition of the Quibbler comes out.

I know I am a hypocrite, and a liar, and a traitor, and I may have just turned in the sole hope for the future of humanity, but I don't care. I don't. I don't. I can't.

The world can fall, for all I care. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can win, Harry Potter can die – the Crumple-Horned Snorkack can go extinct, even, if that's what it takes – but I don't care about any of it, I don't, as long as I can get her back.

Luna. I need Luna. I need to rescue her.

If he gives her back to me, alive, unharmed, I won't care what he does after that. I'll do anything they want me to. I'll give up the Quibbler, give up my home, Luna and I can go to Sweden and live in hiding with the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks if we have to – I'll let them kill me, even, if that strikes their fancy. As long as they give me Luna. As long as she is safe.

But if they don't . . .

If they don't give her back to me, if they hurt her in any way, if they – no, I can't even think it. If any harm comes to her, I promise you, it won't matter that I just turned in Harry Potter. I'll hut down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and I'll kill him with my bare hands, I promise this. We won't need the Chosen One then.

So maybe it doesn't matter . . .

These attempts to persuade myself don't have any effect on my conscience, but Luna is more important that anything else. I don't care. I don't.

I've wasted too much time. They might be getting suspicious. I have to go back inside. I have to keep them talking. I can't let them leave.

The Death Eaters should be here soon.


	4. Mad-Eye's Death

They didn't take the bait.

The black robes, the hooded figures, the masks we've all seen, quite frankly, far too many times for our lives, they're on broomsticks and they're surrounding us. This is more than a simple lookout. They didn't take the damn bait.

Someone's betrayed us. Someone, somehow. But who? And how?

I curse myself. So much for constant vigilance. My own can't have been so constant, can it have, if we were betrayed so easily?

They haven't reached us yet, but they're close. How many of them will come to us? And did they know about the seven Potters? Do they know who the real one is?

One of them might be a Legilimens. I shield my brain, trying to empty my thoughts. If they don't already know, no use digging myself in deeper by letting them know.

And now here they are, dozens of hooded figures on brooms. It seems as though they are concentrating on us, so that's one success at least, isn't it? They thought Potter would be with the most highly trained Aurors. Well, at least not all of my plans were a failure tonight. I allow myself one grim smile.

But that smile fades quickly, at the yell of panic and horror behind me. That damn thief. Mundungus. He was the least trustworthy one in the group, comes a quick thought, but I banish it. If he's really betrayed us, there's no way he'd sound so scared now. Unless he fears my retribution. I roll my eye to the back of my head as quickly as possible, and see the look of pure horror on his face, gaze fixed somewhere off to the left.

I quickly turn, and swear under my breath.

It's Voldemort.

Snakelike face, bright red eyes, and all, and no broom, he is flying towards us. How can he do this? But there's no time to wonder. This is what I trained for. This is the culmination of all these years. I think back to what I said two years ago – "get you there, or die trying." Well, if that's what it comes to, that's what we'll do. It is essential that Harry Potter survive this night.

The broom twitches. Mundungus, sitting behind me, is shaking with horror. He can't fight this. Coward. Idiot. In my mind I'm calling him every name I can think of. There's a loud CRACK and suddenly the broom tips forward, with only my weight on it. He's Disapparated.

Voldemort's lips curl up into a smile. He's learned what he wanted to know. At this point, I don't care about me anymore – that idiot has given up the game! There's no way Harry can be with me, now, if he's Disapparated. But I've got to hold him off – he'll have to go through and discard us one by one – he can't guess Harry's with Hagrid, can he? – and if I can put up a good enough fight . . .

I launch a Stunner at him, leaning forward to speed up the broom as much as possible. He just blocks it with a lazy flick of his wand. I grit my teeth and throw a Body-Bind Curse.

That misses as well, and now jets of light are flying all around me. I see the burst of green emanating from Voldemort's wand, try to swerve away, but I can't. It's caught up to me. The last sensation I recognize is falling backwards off my broom, through empty air, and then everything goes black.


	5. NevilleLuna, Dumbledore's Funeral

**Author's Note: This is an elaboration on a very briefly mentioned sentence in HBP, and I expanded it because I love Neville/Luna and I really wish JK Rowling had put them together. By the way, in case you missed the message, this isn't mine.**

There were people _everywhere._

Masses of them, pouring out of the castle, streaming in from Hogsmeade, swarming across the grounds. They were all wearing dress robes, all flocking towards the same place – a raised dais, near the lake, set before rows and rows of chairs.

Neville smoothed his own plain black robes, feeling slightly self-conscious among all these people – many well-known, incredibly famous, all coming to pay their last respects.

He moved gingerly, still a bit sore from the injuries he'd sustained the night – the night – the night it happened. He couldn't bear to think the words, even though he was about to see the proof – see the body – right before his eyes. Madame Pomfrey had fixed him up perfectly, of course, but she'd told him the stiffness would last a few days still, told him that that was typical of Dark magic.

Dark magic.

He still couldn't believe it. He'd fought Dark magic, fought Death Eaters. It was like something his parents would do, like something Gran had always told him. In that respect, he supposed he was proud of himself, but based on the events of the night – he'd rather none of it had happened at all. Nothing good had come out of it, nothing at all, even if he had fought a few Dark wizards.

He found his chair, and prepared to sit, wincing a little. Sitting and standing still hurt. He gripped the back of the chair and began to painfully lower himself into the seat.

"Let me help."

He hadn't noticed her approach until she was right next to him, her voice in his ear and her hands on his shoulders. She slid an arm around his waist and held his other hand firmly, lowering him gently into the chair.

"Thanks," he said gratefully. She said nothing, just squeezed gently on his hand – he shivered a little with pleasure at her touch – before letting go and sliding into the seat next to him.

They sat quietly for a bit, and Neville looked around. He saw Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny already sitting together directly across the aisle. Hermione's eyes were already full of tears, and Ron had his arm around her. Harry was holding Ginny's hand tightly, but his face was unreadable. Neville knew he had actually been there when – when – when it happened. He was very relieved not to be Harry. He would never have wanted to see that.

"Hmm?" he asked, realizing that she was talking to him.

"I said, do you think we'll have the DA back next year?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said miserably. "I expect so; with Dumbledore gone we'll be needing Defense training more than ever, won't we?"

"I don't know," she said, shrugging; he could feel her shoulders moving up and down next to him. "I'd been hoping for the coin to burn all year, you know," he nodded; he did know, "but now . . ." She trailed off. "Now, I believe I'd rather it hadn't."

He nodded again, but then they had to stop talking; the service had begun.

He tried to remain stoic, tried not to show emotion, but he as soon as Hagrid began to walk down the aisle holding the body, Neville felt tears burning the corners of his eyes. He tried to blink them back, but one fell anyway, trickling down his cheek, and more followed.

When the merpeople began to sing, he couldn't restrain the small sob that burst up from his chest. He looked down, eyes blurred, but he felt the pressure of her hand as she laid it on his, and he returned it gratefully. How was it that she always knew exactly what you were thinking, exactly what you needed?

When the ceremony was over, he watched Harry and Ginny talking quietly. His heart ached.

She took his hand and helped ease him out of his chair. When he was finally on his feet, he turned to face her, looking her in the eye for the first time. She was giving him the look, the one that had been in his dreams all year, where her beautiful silvery eyes seemed to look right through you, penetrate your soul.

Her eyes were dry, he noticed, which only made him more conscious that his own were not. He reached up a hand to dry them, but she stayed him by taking it in her own.

"You know," she said, "I do think the DA will be back. After all, what that group meant was exactly what Dumbledore's life meant. Exactly the values he wants us to have – what we will need to have – to win this war."

"Explain," he said.

"Friendship." Her voice was quiet. "I'd never had a friend before the DA, and I think it's a wonderful feeling. Hope. Dreams. Joy." She paused for a moment, and added, "Love."

He was acutely aware of her hand still holding his. He reached for her other one. He needed to tell her, and he needed to do it now. "Luna . . ." he said, and then paused, still searching for the right words.

"It's okay," she said softly. "You don't need to say anything."

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, lips brushing softly against his skin like the wings of a butterfly. Then she gently disengaged her hands from his, turned around, and disappeared.

He found her later, standing at the edge of the lake and gazing out across the still water, as though waiting for something to appear there. But she heard him approaching, and turned to face him. "Hello, Neville."

"Hey, Luna," he said quietly. He stood beside her, but he wasn't looking at the lake. He was looking at the tomb next to them. "You never let me finish earlier."

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "What were you going to say?"

"Well," he said, shrugging. "I wasn't really going to _say_ anything."

At her puzzled look, he took her hands again, both of them, and turned her to face him. Her eyes were still piercing him, but not in an uncomfortable way, in a way that made him want to stand there and keep looking at them forever.

He didn't, though. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her, on the lips this time, pulling her close to him. He felt her hands untangle from his and wrap around his waist. When they finally broke apart, she stayed there, arms still around him, and he leaned down to fit his chin on top of her head, burying his face in her long blond hair.

Maybe something good had come out of that night after all.


	6. Shell Cottage

**This is how I imagine it was for Bill when the group shows up on his doorstep after Malfoy Manor. Once again, I own nothing.**

CRACK.

The unmistakable sound of someone Apparating. Right outside.

Bill shared one glance at Fleur, who nodded. They both drew their wands and moved to stand in a defensive position in the middle of the room, eyes on the door.

All was quiet for a few moments, and then the doorframe rattled with the banging of many fists. Bill went over to the door, peeked out through the peephole, and gasped aloud in shock.

Outside stood what was possibly the strangest quartet that Bill had ever seen. Teetering on the stoop stood Ginny's friend and their former neighbor Luna Lovegood, her long hair unkempt and dirty, huge eyes almost literally popping out of her face, which was unnaturally pale. Clutching her arm was a tall black boy who looked to be a little older than Ron, and whose face was battered and bloody. The two of them seemed to be holding up a wizened old man – Bill looked closer – was that _Mr. Ollivander?_ And strangest of all, closest to the door, tiny fists pounding hard, was a house-elf, obviously free, as it was wearing a pair of child's shorts and a sweater . . . a maroon sweater . . . a _Weasley_ sweater.

Ron. And Harry. This obviously had something to do with them, thought Bill. Aloud he called, "Prove your identity!"

"It is Dobby, sir!" squeaked the house-elf, large green eyes widening as he stepped back from the door and tried to look in. "Harry Potter is sending Dobby, sir, to bring his friends to Shell Cottage, sir, and now Dobby must go back to Harry Potter!"

With that being said, the elf moved out of the way of the door, turned on the spot, and Disapparated with another loud CRACK.

"Polyjuice Potion can only be used on humans," Bill murmured to Fleur. "So he was real. And you know, I think I heard Harry mention something about a crazy house-elf."

"Per'aps," said Fleur cautiously, "but zat does not mean zat zey" – she indicated Luna, Mr. Ollivander, and the as-yet-unidentified boy – "are not Death Eaters."

But at that moment, Luna spoke, her voice less dreamy than usual. "I am Luna Lovegood," she said, "and I was at your wedding, William and Fleur Weasley, where Harry Potter took Polyjuice Potion and pretended to be a redhead named Barny. I don't think that Dean will be able to prove his identity to you, and Mr. Ollivander isn't conscious, but I was with them the whole time and I know that they aren't Death Eaters."

Bill exchanged another look with Fleur, and only when she nodded did he open the door.

The three wasted no time, but stumbled into the house. Luna and the other boy – Dean – were basically carrying Ollivander, and they stood uncertainly in the living room with their burden. The old man was bone-thin, sagging in their arms, and he looked to be a thousand times older than he had been last time Bill saw him.

Fleur turned to Bill, kissed his cheek, and without a word went to Luna and Dean to relieve them of their burden. She slid an arm under the old man's shoulders and guided him to the nearest bedroom. Bill knew he'd be in good hands with her, and then shifted his attention to the other two.

"What are you doing here?" he asked them. "Where are Harry, Ron, and Hermione?"

"They helped us escape," said Luna promptly. Bill noticed again how thin she was, and wondered where she had been. He'd heard from Ginny what had happened on the Hogwarts Express – when they'd kidnapped her to force her father into silence, but he didn't know anything of what had happened afterward. Maybe she would tell him now. "Harry and Ron told us to come with Dobby; they wouldn't let us stay and help" –

Dean sent her a warning look, and she stopped talking abruptly, but it was too late. Bill pounced. "Help what? Help who? Where were you?"

"We don't know the whole story," said Dean slowly. "I've been on the run all year, been lucky to snag a copy of the _Prophet_ every now and then, and that's of almost no use, with all the lies they're printing. I'd just been captured by a gang of Snatchers with a goblin when they got Harry, Ron, and Hermione."

Now Bill remembered from Potterwatch: "Muggle-born Dean Thomas" who may have escaped from the Death Eaters who caught Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell . . . Bill had been devastated to hear that; Dirk had been a friend. But he remembered something else . . .

"Was there a goblin with you?" he asked Dean. "It said something on Potterwatch . . ."

Looking faintly surprised, Dean nodded. "Griphook. He couldn't come with us, they dragged him upstairs before we left, but hopefully Harry'll have him. They should be coming soon, or they made it sound like they would." He glanced outside. "They were going to fight their way out of it . . ."

CRACK.

"That's them, it must be!" said Luna excitedly, and Fleur, who had rejoined them in the living room at the sound of the noise, caught her arm as she went to open the door. "Not yet," she said sharply. "We cannot let zem in until we know if zey are friends."

"But there's Dobby!" cried Luna excitedly. "And Ron, and Hermione" – her face paled even more than it was, and Bill, ignoring Fleur's words of caution, wrenched open the door and ran outside, closely followed by the others.

Ron and Hermione were making their way to the door – or, Ron was. Hermione was deathly pale, whiter than Luna, and she appeared to be unconscious. Ron was holding her up, talking to her frantically, tears streaking down his face, and there was a red line across her throat, dripping blood. A wounded goblin lay on the ground beside him, barely moving.

"How do I know you?" gasped Bill, skidding to a stop beside Ron. Ron looked up at him with tormented eyes.

"When I was three, Fred turned my teddy bear into a spider! Now help me with her – please!"

Fleur took the goblin, Dean Hermione, and they began to carry the patients into the house. Ron made to follow, but Bill stayed him with a hand on his arm. "Ron," he said urgently, "what happened? Where's Harry?"

But his second question was answered, not by Ron, but by a faint cry from a distance away, where two more figures had just Apparated. One of them was tiny, lying on the ground, the other taller, with messy hair, which was clearly Harry, who was yelling, "DOBBY!"

Luna moved first. She turned to face where Harry was, and then understanding flashed across her face and she began to sprint. Ron turned and, before Bill could stop him, ran into the house after Hermione, just as Fleur and Dean came out. They came to join Bill.

"HELP!" they heard Harry call, faintly, "HELP!"

They all looked at each other, and then, without a word, they ran after Luna.


	7. Hermione at the Yule Ball

**So I know it really upsets Hermione when Ron is awful to her at the Yule Ball, but I like to imagine that she had a wonderful time with Krum anyway. I'm not saying she prefers him to Ron, but I like to think she feels a little like a princess in all the fairy tales she's read. I don't own anything.**

Hermione's breath was quickening, heart beating erratically with nervousness and reluctance. Reaching up, she touched her hair again – whatever else she might say about them, Parvati and Lavender knew how to get a girl ready for a ball – and then let her hand drop to her side.

Hogwarts had never had a ball before! Not while she'd been there, anyway. And after hearing the Muggle girls at home talking about their school dances, she'd been praying for something like this for years! And now that the ball was here, all she could feel was – well, a little sick, really.

And she knew why. Heaven knows, she'd tried to deny the reason to herself for weeks, but she finally had to admit it.

Sighing, she sank back down onto her bed – she still had fifteen minutes before she had to be in the Great Hall – and let her head drop into her hands.

Because she was going with the wrong person.

Whenever she'd imagined herself going to one of these dances, she'd always pictured herself either with Ron or Harry. Because that was what you did, right? You went to dances with your friends, when neither of you was interested in anyone else?

Of course, that was before she knew . . . really knew. Because this year the feeling had started growing. And she'd thought it had been growing for him, too, but she must have been wrong, mustn't she?

_"Hermione, Neville's right . . . you are a girl . . ."_

Ugh. Friends for four years, and only now gotten it through his thick skull that she wasn't asexual? Thanks a lot, Ron, thanks a lot. It showed those feelings weren't reciprocated.

She supposed that if anyone knew who she was going with (which they didn't, absolutely didn't, because she hadn't told a soul except Ginny and had sworn her to secrecy), she'd be the object of great envy. Right? Who wouldn't want to go with a famous Quidditch star?

_Me_, thought Hermione ironically, raising her hand. But Viktor had just seemed so sweet and shy when he asked, and she couldn't say no . . . and it wasn't like he was such a bad person, really – he seemed very modest and likable. And it wasn't his fault he wasn't her first choice.

So she sighed and stood up, sweeping out the dormitory and into the common room. It wasn't fair to Viktor to sulk on him. Besides, maybe she'd end up having some fun after all?

She hadn't seen Harry or Ron before she saw Viktor in the Great Hall, and she was relieved (in a vindictive way). Let them wait to find out who her date was – let them wait until they saw her dancing with him at the ball! And she would be perfectly happy, because Ron – _Ron, _who had no clue what he was missing – might see it then.

"Hello, Hermy-own."

She giggled – giggled? Oh, Lord, she was turning into Parvati and Lavender – and turned to face Viktor. "Hello, Viktor." He was very handsome, she realized – his hair was neat and his eyes incredibly dark. She felt like she was going to fall any moment into their depths, because his gaze was locked on her. And his eyebrows weren't really so big after all.

Resisting the urge to let out another nervous giggle, and smoothed down her robes. His were the same shade of blue, she noticed, just darker, and her heart beat a little faster at the thought that they matched. His eyes took her in, and he smiled. "You look lovely."

She felt her face unconsciously curve into a smile. "Thank you," she replied, her heart in her throat. _Snap out of it!_ she told herself sharply, not wanting to get sucked into the trap of being a member of his fan club. But a boy had never acted like this around her before – all she had were Harry and Ron, who apparently, as mentioned, thought she was asexual.

But she couldn't even get annoyed. Some sort of bubble of happiness had floated up into her throat, and all she could do was smile again. Viktor was offering her his arm. "Shall we go?" he asked.

She took it. "We shall."

They danced. He was an excellent dancer, and as she felt his strong hands at her back, whirling her around, her nervousness subsided, but her smile did not. She felt like a princess!

He was such a gentleman – his hands stayed right where they should, and he didn't step on her feet once, and when she finally, out of breath but laughing, bowed out, he followed her to the tables and offered to go get drinks.

"Thank you!" she smiled again, and as he set off, she spotted Ron and Harry sitting at a table nearby. But even they couldn't ruin her mood right now, she was certain, so she hurried over to sit with them.

As soon as she stopped moving, she could feel how _hot_ she was, could feel the flush deepening on her cheeks. Beads of sweat were beginning to make their way down her back, and she cringed, praying her robes wouldn't be damp when she and Viktor started dancing again.

"Hi," said Harry, seeming a little glum but at least acknowledging her presence. Ron was still silent, and she could feel the hostility radiating from him. Determined not to let him get her down, she focused on Harry.

"It's _hot_, isn't it?" She flapped her hand uselessly next to her face, attempting to cool her burning cheeks. "Viktor's just gone to get some drinks."

She could practically feel Ron's glare scorching her. "Viktor? Hasn't he asked you to call him _Vicky_ yet?"

"What's up with you?" She could feel the burn in her cheeks growing hotter. _Stay calm, stay calm_, she told herself desperately.

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you." His voice was full of scorn, and she stared at Harry – maybe he had some kind of idea. But he just shrugged helplessly. _Thanks for the help._

Aloud she said, "Ron, what - ?"

"He's from Durmstrang!" Ron burst out. "He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You're – you're" – he flailed his arms around, as though unable to articulate any more words – "you're _fraternizing with the enemy,_ that's what you're doing!"

She could feel her jaw drop. What on earth - ? What about Roger Davies, huh? He's going with Fleur! For that matter, what about _you_, who's been mooning over the veela girl all year! And Viktor, too! "Don't be so stupid! The enemy?" Hypocrite. "Honestly, who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?" She could feel her voice, and her temper, rising with every word.

Ron ignored her accusations – obviously because he didn't have a leg to stand on – and sneered, "I suppose he asked you to come with him when you were both in the library?"

"Yes, he did." Hermione felt like she was going to spontaneously combust, if the heat in her cheeks was any indicator. "So what?"

"What happened – trying to get him to join spew, were you?"

_It's S.P.E.W., Ronald, and I don't know why I bothered asking you to join in the first place. Suppose I was counting on your friendship. Well, I can forget that one, can't I? _"No, I wasn't! If you really want to know, he" – she paused, and then continued quickly, "he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try to talk to me, but hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!"

"Yeah, well, that's his story." _Excuse me?_

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Obvious, isn't it? He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with... He's just trying to get closer to Harry- get inside information on him- or get near enough to jinx him-" _Ronald Weasley are you implying that I'm a horrible enough friend to give away information on Harry to anyone else it doesn't matter who I go to any ball with how dare you say such a thing about me . . . _The rants in her head were losing coherency.

"For your information, he hasn't asked my one single thing about Harry, not _one_" – _Stupid lip, stop trembling, you will not cry, you will not cry, you will not cry._

"Then he's hoping you'll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you've been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions-"

Never mind the crying thing. She was back to worrying about spontaneously combusting. "I'd never help him work out that egg! Never! I want Harry to win the tournament, Harry knows that, don't you, Harry?" _Yes, Harry, speak up and tell your best friend he's being ridiculous. You know I'm right._

"You've got a funny way of showing it," Ron's voice was like a knife.

"The whole tournament's supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!" And Ron hadn't been doing so well at that.

"No it's not! It's about winning!" Hermione was seriously starting to doubt her choice in friends. And why hadn't Harry said anything yet?

"Ron, I haven't got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum." Oh, there we go. But his voice was almost inaudible. _Thanks for the help, Harry,_ thought Hermione sourly. She could feel all eyes on them, but was past caring. Fire was burning in her cheeks, and she'd completely forgotten about the sweat that had seemed so important a few minutes ago.

"Why don't you go and find _Vicky,_" Ron used the name deliberately, she knew he had, "he'll be wondering where you are."

That was it. "_Don't call him Vicky!"_ she practically screamed, leaped to her feet, and stormed off. Why had she sat down with them? Her bubble of happiness was completely burst, and all because of stupid Ronald Weasley. She fumed, not watching where she was going, until she bumped into someone.

"Herm-own-ninny!" Viktor's voice was surprised, but pleased. "Vair are you going? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, looking up at him. Even after her collision with his chest, the butterbeers had managed to remain unspilled. She took the one he was offering her, and managed a weak smile. "I was just arguing with someone." She took a sip of butterbeer, and felt a flood of warmth wash through her. That, combined with her unexpected Prince Charming, helped erase the bitter argument. She smiled up at him again, a real smile this time. "But it's not important."

When they had finished their drinks, he led her out onto the dance floor again, and she laughed as he spun her elegantly around the room. How had he managed to make her forget about Ron's rudeness so quickly and so well? As the song hit its last few notes, he dipped her– deeply enough to exhilarate her, but still with his strong, firm hand safely on her back. He held her there for a moment before pulling her back up.

"Vould you – vould you like to go for a valk with me?" he asked, sounding a bit nervous.

"Of course," she nodded and smiled, and he took her hand and led her outside.

They walked a bit on the paths, still holding hands. Hermione marveled at how such a fairy-tale could be coming true for her – even if it was only for one night. Everything was so beautiful, and the night was peaceful, and now Viktor was stopping, and leading her to a bench on the side of the path where no teachers were nearby, and her heart nearly stopped.

He turned to face her, and took both of her hands in his. His face was inches from hers.

"Herm-own-ninny," he said quietly, "I have had a vunderful time vith you tonight."

"So have I," she said softly and sincerely.

His face was nervous and excited. "Vould you mind – is it all right – can I - ?"

She smiled again. "Of course you can, Viktor," she whispered, before tilting her face up until her lips met his.

Shortly afterward, the ball had unfortunately drawn to a close, and Hermione could feel the smile still on her face as she walked back to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Viktor had had to go with the other Durmstrang students back to the ship, but that was all right, thought Hermione. She didn't have any delusions about marrying Viktor one day. But it had been her first kiss, and, she thought, a good one to remember.

As she climbed through the portrait hole, she saw Ron standing there, waiting for her, face already burning red. She sighed, feeling the smile slip from her face faster than honey from oil.

Time for Round Two.


	8. Hermione after Godric's Hollow

**This is Hermione's perspective after she gets them safely out of Godric's Hollow, and my take on the "things" she mentions that Harry was doing. I can't even imagine how scary that must have been for her, but this is my best guess at doing so. Don't own.**

Hermione was shuddering, sobbing, her teeth chattering and her whole body shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. That was horrible, horrible, so awful, but she couldn't focus on that now because – why? She couldn't remember why anymore, and her whole body was so cold, and she couldn't feel her fingers anymore . . .

A part of her vaguely recognized that she was going into shock, and didn't really care, but then the rational part, the part that kept its head, urged her to care because there was an important reason she needed to stay calm, an important thing – _Harry._

Really, with the way her concentration had been, they were both lucky not to be Splinched or worse, after Disapparating – midair was never the best place to do it, and especially not after leaping out of a broken window after being attacked by Voldemort's snake – _what had happened?_

But the only one who could answer that was Harry, and he wasn't anywhere near coherent at the moment. He was the important thing right now.

So, with a huge effort, Hermione stopped gasping for air, stopped her sobs, and wiped her eyes. That didn't leave a huge impression, because there was no stopping the tears – but that wasn't important at the moment. She could focus well enough, and she reached into her bag and pulled out the tent.

_"Erecto!"_ and as the tent soared out of the bag and began to set itself up, Hermione turned her attention to Harry.

First, she tried to lift him by putting her arm under his shoulders, but he was writhing so badly that she was afraid she would hurt either him or herself by doing that. As she laid him back down on the ground, as gently as she could – which, due to his flailing, wasn't that gentle – she noticed three things, each more horrible than the last.

First, blood was running down his arm. The snake – the snake had bitten him.

She stifled a moan behind her hand, but she could fix that. Pinning his arm to the ground with her left arm, she Summoned the dittany with her right. As carefully and precisely as she could, she smeared the dittany across the wound, and it began – slowly – to heal. She let out a pent-up breath. The fangs hadn't been poisonous. Thank God.

She'd have to bandage it, but she could do that later. The second thing had her even more worried.

Even with all the motion of his flailing limbs, the fall from her arms to the ground – the Horcrux had not moved. The Horcrux he'd been wearing around his neck.

Just so she wouldn't panic unnecessarily, she lifted his shoulders and let them thump back to the ground. He began to moan, and she stiffened, but that wasn't important right now.

_The Horcrux was stuck to his chest._

Her breath came quickly. This was bad. This was really bad. She was losing function again, couldn't be any more mentally coherent than that. Was that why he wouldn't wake up? Was that why he was moaning? Was it . . . possessing him? Or something? Was it taking his soul?

She tried to pry it up, but it wouldn't move – she could feel a fluttering behind the deceptively-smooth metal – like a beating heart. She wrenched on it with all her strength, but it stayed there, stuck. Unmoving.

There was only one thing she could do, that she could think of anyway, and it might hurt but – wasn't the alternative worse? A scar – of which Harry already had plenty – or possession?

_I'm sorry, Harry,_ she said silently to herself, before pointing her wand at the locket. "_Diffindo!_"

Almost reluctantly, the locket was ripped away from his chest, taking a layer of skin with it – Hermione winced at the bloody wound on Harry's chest, but that, too she could fix . . .

Dabbing the dittany on the wound, she froze as Harry twitched and moaned again. His eyes didn't open, but tears were squeezing out of the corners of them, trickling down the sides of his unshaven face and into his hair. He was letting out tiny gasping choking noises, a little like sobs but not quite.

As the skin began to knit back together, Hermione dropped the dittany to the ground and leaned over to him. He was still whimpering, and she didn't know what to do about it.

Slowly, gently, she wiped the tears from the sides of his face. "It's okay, Harry," she whispered uselessly, knowing he was far away and couldn't hear her at all. "It's all right, shh, shhh."

He was so much more vulnerable, she thought, than he always let himself be in front of them. Didn't he realize that they were his friends, that they didn't care if he didn't always know what to do, that they didn't care if he wasn't invincible?

Then she remembered that she was thinking in the plural, and she had to fight back tears of her own. They weren't a trio anymore, she and Ron weren't a "them" anymore, and never would be again.

But she had to focus on Harry right now, she thought, checking him over for any more injuries, and then she noticed the third thing – the worst thing of all.

His hand was clenched, so tightly that the scars stood out white, around his wand.

His broken wand.

"Oh no," she whispered. "_Oh no._"

It was almost in two pieces but not quite, and this was something she wasn't going to able to repair. She remembered their second year, Ron's wand, its constant failure to function – she couldn't fix this. And how would he get a new one?

She knew how much Harry needed that wand. Knew about the twin cores, and the protection it gave him. And more than that, it was a part of him. That was a part of the magical world that she understood wholeheartedly, because losing her wand would be like losing her hand.

A picture came to her head – herself screaming _"Confringo!"_ and grabbing Harry, and the curse deflecting off of everything, and that odd crack she'd heard but hadn't paid any attention to – the wand.

She moaned aloud this time, because it was her fault, and she couldn't stop the tears falling again, because Harry's wand was broken and he'd lost his protection and _it was her fault._

And then something snapped her back to consciousness; Harry had stiffened as though receiving an electric shock, and his eyes flew open. She was about to gasp with relief, but then she realized that they weren't focused at all, still somewhere far away, and then they shut again and his whole body arched in pain. And suddenly he was screaming. Not like his unintelligible moans earlier, words. Words she understood.

"Lily, take Harry and go!"

A hand flew to her mouth. She knew what he must be reliving.

"It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off . . ."

And then as that word died away, Harry's muscles all locked into place again, and he shrieked.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

She had to stop this, she had to, somehow, Harry was reliving the worst moment of his life, and she knew it was the worst ever, because it was the defining moment –

"Harry!" she cried, "no! Harry! Wake up! Snap out of it! It's not happening! You're safe – you're safe . . ."

But the tears were streaming down his face again, and his eyes were opening and closing rapidly, muscles shaking as though he were having a seizure, and she did the only thing she could –

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

His body snapped together, rigid again, and it was awful to have to perform that spell on him but it was the only way she could think of to get him into bed.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

She directed his stiff body with her wand, gently levitating him into the bunk, and then before she removed the spell she pried his wand from his crushing grip and dropped it on the floor. Then she unclasped the locket from his neck and stowed that safely in her bag – there was no way either of them was wearing it again. Not after this.

She lifted the Body-Bind Curse, and he immediately began to flail again, and the tears were still squeezing from his eyes, his lashes soaking wet, and suddenly he was screeching again.

"Not Harry! Not Harry – Stand aside, you foolish girl – Please, have mercy, not Harry – "

He was interrupting himself, his mother and Voldemort all at once – screaming and ordering, wailing, and the whole time, tears pouring down his face.

She couldn't sleep, there was no way she would ever be able to, and though it was dark outside, Hermione stayed awake. She stood by the bed, and sponged the sweat and tears from Harry's face, fatigue and shock threatening to press down upon her until she, too, was rendered incoherent, but she could not, she must stay awake for Harry, because, she knew, he would have done the same for her . . .

And as night wore into morning, dawn slowly beginning to break, the screams subsided into moans, and then Hermione could make out words again . . .

"No . . ."

The sound was so pitiful, so heartbreaking, that Hermione wanted to cry again, but she mustn't, she must stay strong for Harry. So she carefully dried his eyes once again, and bit her lip hard.

"No . . ."

Why couldn't he stop? What was he seeing? What was happening? When was he going to wake up?

"No . . ."

Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. "Harry!" she said, speaking for the first time in hours. "Harry, it's all right, you're all right!"

His body was stilling, the twitching slowly subsiding, and he moaned once again, "No . . ." But before Hermione could open her mouth, he was speaking again, "I dropped it . . . I dropped it . . ."

Perhaps he would wake up soon, please, let him wake up soon . . . "Harry," he said desperately, "it's okay, wake up, wake up!" _Please wake up._

And then the green eyes opened, opened for real this time, and focused. She could see recognition – he knew who she was. She wanted to cry again, but this time with relief.

"Harry," she said gently, "Do you feel all" – but then she stopped, because there was no way he was all right. But there was nothing else to ask, so she finished – "all right?"

"Yes," he said weakly, barely whispering.

He was lying, she knew it, but the fact that he was awake and knew who she was and, well, _himself_ enough to lie about being all right, sank in. He might not be all right now, but he would be. She let out a huge breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"We got away."

"Yes," she said, and as she said it, one of her toes nudged the form of his broken wand, lying on the ground. She closed her eyes briefly.

Time for the explanation.


End file.
